She fiddled with the pockets on her apron and debated sticking around for the next inning, but it would be at least two more before he took the plate again, and the sun was already going down. Her mother had arrived the previous day to “help out” with Olivia, but Misty Darling’s idea of help was to stick her nose into everyone else’s business at all times.
Misty would never have won any mother-of-the-year awards, but she seemed to think she was in a suitable position to judge Alice’s mothering. Normally it was kept to a distance, since she lived a hundred miles away, but whenever she came around, the opinions started flying like bullets.
Alice couldn’t get too frustrated with Misty, though, because her mother was doing her a big favor by helping out with Liv. All the same—and in spite of what he’d done—she couldn’t wait for Kevin to get home.
Her phone buzzed.
Think of the devil.
“Hi, Misty.”
“Hey, kitten. Can you bring home burgers or something? I tried to cook that casserole you left, but I forgot it in the oven and…well, it’s a bit mesquite. I mean, if that’s your thing, we can still eat it, but I think the kid might want something more substantial.”
Alice had tuned out most of the conversation, hearing only every other word her mother said. “Okay. Why…?” The idea of arguing with Misty exhausted her, so she let it go with an unfinished question. “Okay. I’ll get something.”
With Misty at the house, there was no way to invite Alex over to talk. Over the last two days they’d exchanged texts and a quick phone call, but nothing as serious as what they needed. It was clear they had to have a serious discussion about Matt. She had to explain…or try. She wasn’t sure what she was going to say or what he might ask, but she knew the unfortunate conversation had to happen.
It wasn’t like she’d lied, but she hadn’t been totally open either, and sometimes that was worse.
She texted him, knowing he wouldn’t get it until after the game. Your room, tonight. Name the time, I’ll bring the wine.
She might need to be a little drunk to make the whole thing easier.
Maybe a lot drunk.
The lot was full, so she’d had to park on the street. On her way back to the car she wished she could undo the text. Perhaps it wasn’t the right time. It could certainly wait a few more days, couldn’t it?
But in a few days he might be packing his bags to go back to San Francisco. She’d been watching the minor league stats, and she knew he was getting the heat back into his swing. Enough heat and the Felons would want him in their rotation again.
Then she’d have to scratch him from her personal lineup card and let him go back where he belonged.
And it sucked.
She wanted to be where he belonged. She wanted to be his…his touchstone. The place he thought of as home when he was gone a long time, the place he couldn’t get enough of.
But to be his, she needed to be honest. And giving herself over to someone that way was something she didn’t know how to do. Was it possible to want to be in love, yet convince herself she didn’t deserve it? Was she destined to screw everything up for herself because of some preconceived notion she wasn’t worthy of getting happiness?
“Ugh,” she groaned, climbing into the car.
It had been easier to ignore the desire for love when she didn’t have a hope in hell of finding it. A therapist might tell her it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, but that’s why she didn’t see a therapist. And because they were too expensive.
Now she was confronted with this man. This wonderful, warm, sexy-as-hell man. And for some reason he didn’t care about her baggage, he didn’t mind that she had a kid, and he’d even stuck around after dealing with her bitchy moods. She wanted this man. And beyond all logic, he wanted her.
Was she really going to squander things because she had a shitty ex? Was she going to screw everything up intentionally on the off chance they might end up hurt, and it would be hard?
What was she waiting for?
She checked her cell phone at every stop sign and red light, waiting for a message. Sitting in the drive-through at McDonald’s, she glanced roughly forty-seven times, but the notification light never came on. It wasn’t until she rolled into her driveway that the phone started to ring.
She juggled the cell in one hand and the two big McDonald’s bags in the other, bumping the car door closed with her hip. “Hello?”
“You’re bringing the wine, are you?” Alex sounded tired but was still his warm, joking self. “Don’t you know what wine does to me?”
“What’s that?” She placed the McDonald’s bags on the hood of the car, hoping to avoid going into the house at least a few minutes longer. If she was pressed, she could pretend reception inside was bad.